I want to be better.
But what does that mean?
What does that include?
Better to whom?
Because isn't that what this conflict is about?
Am I getting better for them or for me?
Am I this way because I don't want to get better?
What is the problem?
I'm the problem.
That's for sure.
But not all of me.
I can't all be wrong.
I can't all be bad.
I can't be like this forever.
I want to fix myself.
But I am holding myself back.
Because, who will I be if I am not broken?
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Early Morning on the S Train
I've got on a huge overstuffed backpack
A tote bag with an image of a woman slicing off her own nipple
A large triple shot espresso in one hand
And a bagel with peanut butter and
a half of a banana smushed inbetween
I've got peanut butter all over my hands
Snot is dripping from my face
And I just keep looking
for a woman in a fur coat.
MAKING FRIENDS WHEREVER I GO
:) :) :)
A tote bag with an image of a woman slicing off her own nipple
A large triple shot espresso in one hand
And a bagel with peanut butter and
a half of a banana smushed inbetween
I've got peanut butter all over my hands
Snot is dripping from my face
And I just keep looking
for a woman in a fur coat.
MAKING FRIENDS WHEREVER I GO
:) :) :)
Thursday, May 15, 2014
2012, The Buzzcocks and Me
In 2012 I did a thing.
The Buzzcocks have a song that goes, "WHAT DO I GET?" and then lists things to create a catchy chorus. It is a damn good song and part of the punk anthem pantheon.
I was going out drinking pretty much every night in 2012 and carted around a notebook and pen. At the peak of my self loathing I would make lists. I am a very good list maker. It started off with the above phrase from The Buzzcocks and then a list of things that were happening to me at that moment, had happened in moments past, or were remarks on general moments of life that reoccurred and created my current reality. Here are two I found, more to come:
WHAT DO I GET?
- I get drunk
- I get missed connections
- I get far away glances that lead to nowhere
- I get a feeling in my gut
- I get a sense of dread
- I get a sense I am too chicken shit to say anything
- I am too chicken shit not to order another drink
WHAT DO I GET?
- NERVOUS
- GIDDY
- OVERLY CONFIDENT (and then insecure)
- INTROVERTED (why do you think I've got this pad and pen wherever I go?)
- TONGUE TIED
- FIDGETY
- DRUNK (really really drunk)
The Buzzcocks have a song that goes, "WHAT DO I GET?" and then lists things to create a catchy chorus. It is a damn good song and part of the punk anthem pantheon.
I was going out drinking pretty much every night in 2012 and carted around a notebook and pen. At the peak of my self loathing I would make lists. I am a very good list maker. It started off with the above phrase from The Buzzcocks and then a list of things that were happening to me at that moment, had happened in moments past, or were remarks on general moments of life that reoccurred and created my current reality. Here are two I found, more to come:
WHAT DO I GET?
- I get drunk
- I get missed connections
- I get far away glances that lead to nowhere
- I get a feeling in my gut
- I get a sense of dread
- I get a sense I am too chicken shit to say anything
- I am too chicken shit not to order another drink
WHAT DO I GET?
- NERVOUS
- GIDDY
- OVERLY CONFIDENT (and then insecure)
- INTROVERTED (why do you think I've got this pad and pen wherever I go?)
- TONGUE TIED
- FIDGETY
- DRUNK (really really drunk)
Some stuff I wrote in a notebook two years ago
Sitting pretty? Really?
Feels more like- I am a curiosity.
Like I'm behind glass on a shelf.
On display for ticket holders.
WHO AM I REALLY DOING THIS FOR?
I might be enjoying this-
maybe, I THINK
maybe, I will just have another drink
and stop this analyzing
IT GETS ME NO WHERE.
Feels more like- I am a curiosity.
Like I'm behind glass on a shelf.
On display for ticket holders.
WHO AM I REALLY DOING THIS FOR?
I might be enjoying this-
maybe, I THINK
maybe, I will just have another drink
and stop this analyzing
IT GETS ME NO WHERE.
16 June 2012
The graffiti reads:
"We want our bodega back!"
"No more yuppies in NoLita!"
People snap pictures.
Buy more clothes.
Buy more desserts.
I remember the hub-bub of SoHo.
Going to Mom's studio to play under the desks.
Whispering my adventures to Peter, my bunny buddy.
Building houses out of discarded paper drafts and design refuse.
I remember walking with Daddy or Sage to go pick up lunch for the office.
Skipping over the cracks and hopskotching over the cobble stone streets.
Eating all the bread samples at Dean and Deluca.
Looking at the displays of thickly iced cookies and heavy sweets.
Hoping I deserved one.
I remember it being crowded.
Always people on the block.
Selling puppets, artwork, bangles and beads laid out on scraps of velvet.
I remember everyone in a hurry.
I remember my sandals.
I remember the sun in my eyes.
I remember the park on Mott street.
I remember...
I don't remember the garbage.
Or the rudeness.
I don't remember all the big stores with long lines.
I don't remember the fat tourists.
I don't remember the entitlement.
I don't remember...
It was there.
I am sure.
It has always been there.
That's New York for you.
No one lives her anymore.
They just buy here.
They buy into the idea of living here.
They like saying the words.
If they really lived here-
they would be just as broken as me.
They would be just as embarrassed as me.
If they really felt the heart beat in the concrete
like I did when I was young
as I do now
this would not be.
"We want our bodega back!"
"No more yuppies in NoLita!"
People snap pictures.
Buy more clothes.
Buy more desserts.
I remember the hub-bub of SoHo.
Going to Mom's studio to play under the desks.
Whispering my adventures to Peter, my bunny buddy.
Building houses out of discarded paper drafts and design refuse.
I remember walking with Daddy or Sage to go pick up lunch for the office.
Skipping over the cracks and hopskotching over the cobble stone streets.
Eating all the bread samples at Dean and Deluca.
Looking at the displays of thickly iced cookies and heavy sweets.
Hoping I deserved one.
I remember it being crowded.
Always people on the block.
Selling puppets, artwork, bangles and beads laid out on scraps of velvet.
I remember everyone in a hurry.
I remember my sandals.
I remember the sun in my eyes.
I remember the park on Mott street.
I remember...
I don't remember the garbage.
Or the rudeness.
I don't remember all the big stores with long lines.
I don't remember the fat tourists.
I don't remember the entitlement.
I don't remember...
It was there.
I am sure.
It has always been there.
That's New York for you.
No one lives her anymore.
They just buy here.
They buy into the idea of living here.
They like saying the words.
If they really lived here-
they would be just as broken as me.
They would be just as embarrassed as me.
If they really felt the heart beat in the concrete
like I did when I was young
as I do now
this would not be.
10:30 AM to New York City (2010)
All on board.
Packed in like eggs.
Each in our own styrafoam pocket.
Just a little too close to each other.
Mother and her child.
Loud sassy women, "Hoooeoo let me telll you!"
French couple with too much luggage.
Kid on his cell phone in a heated argument.
Old man mumbling to himself about raw meat and flesh.
Turned around in seats making conversation.
Snippets waft through the bus.
"Its the fif' amendment: I can say what I want."
"What do you mean we gotta stop in DC?"
"I paid to snore on this bus."
The drivers voice booms and crackles through the bus
"I WANNA WELCOME YALL TO THE GREY HOUND BUS FROM VIRGINA EXPRESS TO NEW YORK. WE WILL ARRIVE AT 5:30 AM AT PORT AUTHORITY."
I'm already nervously picking at my face
peeling off scabs
scratching my head
getting an inch of dandruff
under my nails
I'm so tired and dirty
I want to sleep in my own bed
clean my own house
hang out with my own crazy roomates
mine mine mine
selfish?
no
just exhausted
from being away so long
vacations are nice
but I need a reality check.
And a clean pair of underwear.
Packed in like eggs.
Each in our own styrafoam pocket.
Just a little too close to each other.
Mother and her child.
Loud sassy women, "Hoooeoo let me telll you!"
French couple with too much luggage.
Kid on his cell phone in a heated argument.
Old man mumbling to himself about raw meat and flesh.
Turned around in seats making conversation.
Snippets waft through the bus.
"Its the fif' amendment: I can say what I want."
"What do you mean we gotta stop in DC?"
"I paid to snore on this bus."
The drivers voice booms and crackles through the bus
"I WANNA WELCOME YALL TO THE GREY HOUND BUS FROM VIRGINA EXPRESS TO NEW YORK. WE WILL ARRIVE AT 5:30 AM AT PORT AUTHORITY."
I'm already nervously picking at my face
peeling off scabs
scratching my head
getting an inch of dandruff
under my nails
I'm so tired and dirty
I want to sleep in my own bed
clean my own house
hang out with my own crazy roomates
mine mine mine
selfish?
no
just exhausted
from being away so long
vacations are nice
but I need a reality check.
And a clean pair of underwear.
Just One More...
ANOTHER NIGHT
ANOTHER FUCK
ANOTHER DRUG
ANOTHER DRINK
ANOTHER WASTED FIFTY BUX
ANOTHER STORM
ANOTHER LIGHTENING STRIKE
ANOTHER POUND OF FLESH
ANOTHER CHOICE
ANOTHER CHANCE TO MAKE IT
ANOTHER WAVE
ANOTHER CRASH
ANOTHER BLAST
ANOTHER NIGHT FEELING
HELPLESS AND UNSURE
ANOTHER BAG
ANOTHER BEER
ANOTHER BODY TO WAKE UP TO
ANOTHER STORM TO RAGE
AGAINST
ANOTHER YOU.
ANOTHER FUCK
ANOTHER DRUG
ANOTHER DRINK
ANOTHER WASTED FIFTY BUX
ANOTHER STORM
ANOTHER LIGHTENING STRIKE
ANOTHER POUND OF FLESH
ANOTHER CHOICE
ANOTHER CHANCE TO MAKE IT
ANOTHER WAVE
ANOTHER CRASH
ANOTHER BLAST
ANOTHER NIGHT FEELING
HELPLESS AND UNSURE
ANOTHER BAG
ANOTHER BEER
ANOTHER BODY TO WAKE UP TO
ANOTHER STORM TO RAGE
AGAINST
ANOTHER YOU.
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